


For As Much As We Give, We Receive In Return

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lord of Winterfell returns after being away for more than a moon's turn. The Lady of Winterfell is very glad to have him home.</p><p>Written for the "gift giving" prompt for the Ships of Ice and Fire challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For As Much As We Give, We Receive In Return

Catelyn Stark awoke slowly, feeling warm and secure, and gradually becoming aware that one leg was thrown over her husband’s, one arm rested upon his side, and her face was nuzzled up against his chest, breathing in the scent of him.

_Ned is home._

He’d returned the previous evening after more than a moon’s turn away dealing with the neverending squabbles among the mountain clans, and the joy she’d taken in their reunion had been immeasurable. Lazily, she began moving her hand up and down along his side, tracing the lines of him, so familiar to her and yet always so intriguing.

“Mmm,” he made a rumbling noise low in his throat, and moved the arm which covered her up to tug lightly at her hair--a tangled mass after the events of the previous night.

“Are you pleased to be home, my love?” she asked him, almost shyly.

“More than pleased, Cat.” He laughed then, another low rumble that made her heart skip and her belly flutter. “But I fear my other arm has gone quite numb.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, for his other arm was pinned beneath her. She rolled away from him, freeing his arm, and he rolled onto his back holding it up with his other arm and flexing his fingers slowly. “I am sorry, Ned.”

He laughed again. _Gods, I love his laugh._ It was a sound she heard most often in her bed, and she cherished it with a possessive joy. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my love.” He hesitated. “I am sorry, though, for I fear I was less than gentle last night . . .It had been so long since we could . . .”

“You brought me nothing but joy, my love, I assure you.” she murmured, and she rolled back toward him to plant a kiss on his bearded cheek before turning to scoot herself backward against him.

He rolled back up onto his side then, raising the arm that had gone numb above his head on the pillow and throwing the other over her, pulling her tightly back against him. She snuggled her backside up to him, and he chuckled again, planting a kiss on the back of her neck and moving his hand to make lazy circles over one of her nipples.

She sighed, caught between the desire to fall back asleep cradled by him so and the temptation to move her hips against him encouraging him to take her once again.

Ned had left just over a fortnight after Rickon’s birth, and he hadn’t wanted to go. If the ceaseless arguments among the clans had not threatened to erupt into open warfare, he would not have left them when he did, but he was the Lord of Winterfell. He had had no choice. They had not lain together at all during the last moon she carried Rickon as this pregnancy had been her most difficult, and Maester Luwin had kept her confined to the bed for the last four weeks and expressly forbidden any unnecessary “exertions.”

Rickon was nearly two months old now, and after spending time with the children and exclaiming proudly over his newest son’s remarkable growth, Ned had nearly carried her to her chambers once she’d whispered to him that Luwin had pronounced her well enough to resume all of her normal activities. His mouth had been on hers nearly before they shut the door behind them, and it seemed their clothes had fallen to the floor as if of their own accord. His obvious desire for her had only increased her already considerable desire for him, and the two of them had fallen into her bed as a tangle of intertwined limbs, lips and tongues.

They’d explored each other thoroughly, reacquainting themselves with territory long familiar, but too long unvisited, and by the time she’d taken him in her hand to guide him inside her, he had already caused her to come apart more than once. In spite of his need of her, he’d slowed down at that point, recalling that their first couplings after she’d given birth to their children were always somewhat . . .different . . .for her. Not unpleasant, just different. And he knew to let her set the pace. _Gods, how I love him._

Now, in the pre-dawn darkness, she could feel his cock becoming stiff against her backside, and she smiled, pushing herself back and wiggling against him.

He groaned, and she reached to move his callused hand from her breast to a point considerably lower on her body. “Gods, Cat,” he breathed.

Then he was parting her legs slightly, pushing into her from behind and moving within her almost lazily as he held her tightly against him. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sweet sensation of him filling up her sex and the sound of his breathing becoming more and more ragged in her ear.

Suddenly, he rolled them so that he lay atop her, and his movements became more forceful. He had one arm wrapped around her, fingers splayed over her breast, and his other hand was in her hair as his lips pressed against the back of her neck and down over her shoulders. The rasp of his beard moved over that same soft skin, an erotic counterpoint to the sweet softness of his lips. She pushed her hips upward against him, meeting each thrust, and it took very little time before they both found their release, her hands clutching at the bedding beneath her as her body shook, and she felt the warmth of his seed inside her.

He collapsed onto her, and for a brief moment, she felt all of his weight pressing her into the bed, his cock still inside her as they both gasped for breath. Too soon, he rolled to the side. He was ever too fearful of hurting her, and always sought to spare her his weight. In truth, she missed the sensation of being covered by him as soon as he had moved away.

When she had caught her breath, she raised herself up on one elbow to look at him and found him looking back at her, a smile on his face which made her feel nearly weightless.

“How is it that you are mine?” he whispered, reaching out to softly pull at a section of her hair.

“I am yours, my lord. And I ever shall be,” she responded with a smile. “Are you pleased with your new son, Ned?” she asked him then. “I fear he looks as much a Tully as the others. His hair was not quite so bright at first, and I thought . . .but no. His hair becomes redder by the day, I fear.”

He frowned slightly, and pulled the red strands of hair between his fingers forward where she could see them. “This is the most beautiful hair I have ever seen, my lady. If you present me with a dozen babes blessed enough to receive it from you, I will be most pleased, I assure you. Young Rickon is a fine lad, and I look forward to remaining here long enough to get to know him.”

He dropped her hair then and sat up. “That reminds me, though. There is something I need to attend to. It will not take long, and I shall return to you.”

“Ned! It isn’t even dawn! Whatever could need doing already?”

“It will only take a moment,” he assured her, already leaving her bed and moving about the room to gather the clothing he’d cast off the night before.

She watched him dress with a mixture of puzzlement and disappointment. “Ned?” she asked.

He had only put on breeches, shirt, and socks. He leaned over and kissed her quickly. “I’ll be right back.” Then he hastily pulled on his boots and left. He hadn’t taken his doublet or his cloak, so she doubted he intended to leave the Great Keep.

Sighing, she too rose from the bed, shivering in the cool predawn air. Her rooms were never truly cold, and the weather had been very mild of late, but she felt immeasurably colder with him gone. She shrugged into her robe and then went to her washbasin, cleansing herself gently. Her flesh was tender, and she smiled at the faint red places on her skin left by her husband’s beard.

When she sat down at her dressing table and looked into the glass, she laughed out loud. Her hair was a sight. She doubted that even Arya could compete with the wild bird’s nest atop her head at that moment, and as she fought to drag a comb through the tangles, she grinned to herself at the thought of what her younger daughter might say if she could see her lady mother’s hair in such a state. No doubt, she’d be inordinately entertained by the sight. Of course, being Arya, she would also demand an explanation of how such a thing had come to be, and that was not information Catelyn would be sharing with her six year old.

Her cheeks colored now, just thinking of last night and this morning, and she shook her head at herself. Even after all this time, she blushed at the mere thought of much of what she and Ned did with and for each other in the privacy of her chambers--and occasionally elsewhere. She supposed that she had been too well taught the idea of propriety by Septa Mordane for her to ever lose that tendency. Yet, after more than a decade of marriage to this man she had come to love so completely, she was so comfortable and safe within his arms that all their acts of love came easily to her. The hesitation, uncertainty, and embarrassment which had often plagued her in the early years of their union almost never troubled her now when they were in each other’s arms. It still shocked her sometimes to recognize precisely how much trust they’d managed to achieve through all their moments of intimacy.

As she continued to struggle with the tangles in her hair, images of the night before flashed through her mind, pictures of a reunion too sweet to imagine had she not experienced it herself. As those memories filled her vision, she found herself coloring even more from a heat that had little to do with embarrassment. She saw the dark brown of Ned’s hair moving between her thighs and her heels kicking helplessly at his back as he tortured her in the best possible way with his mouth. She saw his grey eyes looking up at her as she straddled him, looking at her as if she were the center of the universe as she moved herself up and down over his length, and never once looking away from her own eyes as her body bucked and tightened around him, and he grasped at her hips and thrust upward to spend inside her, calling out her name.

“You are thinking about how your hair got to be in such a state, aren’t you?”

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him return. She looked into the glass and saw him standing behind her, an amused expression on his face. She twisted her own mouth. “Sometimes, I wish you were not quite so adept at reading my mind.”

He laughed at her again, and put his hands on her shoulders, not quite accidentally causing her robe to slip open a bit. He bent and placed kisses along her neck and both earlobes, and she leaned back into him. “Anyone can read your face if they only look at it, Cat,” he whispered into her ear. “Although I do like to think that expression you were just wearing is one seen only by me.”

His hands moved downward from her shoulders to cup her breasts, and she smiled. “Well, I certainly know what you’re thinking about.”

“Mmmm,” he murmured against her hair. “Ordinarily your ability to read me is quite impressive, my love, but anyone who couldn’t surmise what I’m thinking about now must be blind.

“And deaf,” she said suggestively. She turned to look at him directly rather than in the mirror. “I love the sound of your voice when you want me.”

He brushed his fingers lightly over her cheeks. “Then you must love the sound of my voice always,” he said with a smile. “For there are no times I don’t want you.”

She laughed at him and went to put her arms around him, but surprisingly he straightened up and moved away from her. He walked to the bed and picked up a package he had apparently tossed down on it when he came into the room.

“I have something for you,” he said, almost shyly, holding it up.

“You brought me something from the mountain clans?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed again at that. “No. Well, they did send their usual gifts of foodstuffs, and there is a very nice bearskin that I thought would do well for your room or possibly the girls’. But this is not from my travels. While the people of the clans are skilled in any number of ways, they are not craftsmen of gifts for beautiful ladies. I had this commissioned before I left, but it was not ready until after my departure. Maester Luwin has kept it safely hidden in my solar.”

Puzzled, she rose and went to join him beside the bed. He handed her the package. “You gave me the gift of a son, my lady. This is but my poor attempt to give you something in return.”

“Oh,” she said softly. He’d given her presents after she’d borne each of the children except Robb. He wasn’t there for Robb’s birth, and when she’d brought their firstborn to Winterfell, he’d met her there with his bastard. No, it had not been a time for gifts, and she did not like to think long on those terrible days.

She’d been stunned when he’d given her a lovely necklace of blue stones after Sansa’s birth. He had never seemed interested in anything as frivolous as jewelry, but he’d told her that the stones, while not as lovely as her eyes reminded him of them, and he’d wanted her to have the necklace. He’d never said anything like that to her before then, and she’d not been able to keep from crying.

He told her she was beautiful often now, but she still teared up whenever she wore that necklace. After Arya, he’d had real stained glass windows put in her sept, and after Bran, he’d given her the blood bay mare that she still rode today--a sweet tempered animal who could run like the wind, and Ned believed complimented her hair.

“I have told you before that you give me the children as much as I give them to you, my love. Gifts are unnecessary.” She’d been so distraught over his leaving so soon after Rickon’s birth (and so determined not to let him see it) that she honestly hadn’t even thought about the fact that he hadn’t given her anything.

“Yes, but you do all the work, my lady. My part in getting our children consists wholly of my enjoying myself tremendously.”

She laughed then, through the tears that had sprung to her eyes as she looked at her package. “Well, do not underestimate my own enjoyment of that part of the proceedings, my lord,” she said very formally, causing him to laugh as well.

Then he moved to sit down upon the bed and pulled her down beside him. “Cat,” he said, looking at her intently with those grey eyes full of so much unspoken love and caring. _How did I ever think his eyes were cold?_ “I do not for one moment forget what it costs you to bring our children into the world, my love. The pain you suffer, the risk you take, the courage you have. No token can express my appreciation for you, but I must do something. Please. Open your gift.”

She smiled at him and undid the wrapping to find two square black cases contained within it. Setting the bottom one beside her on the bed, she opened the top case and drew in her breath. Lying inside the case against soft black cloth was a large pin of fine silver, the type of pin she might use to fasten a cloak or cape if she wanted to make it very beautiful. It was formed in the shape of a trout leaping from rippled water toward the sun above. The trout’s eye was a small but perfect sapphire.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“Your father has made clear his intent to travel to Winterfell soon and see his new grandson. I believe he will like to see that on you, my lady.”

“He will,” she said, still looking at the beautiful pin. After a moment, she lifted her eyes to him. “But Ned, I am a Stark now, am I not?” she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. There was more behind her question than she wished to reveal. For all she had spent more than a decade as the Lady of Winterfell, she sometimes still felt an outsider here. She kept other gods and sang her babes southron lullabies unknown to the women here. The people of the North had slowly warmed to her and seemed to accept her authority, but sometimes she still wondered.

“That you are, my love,” he said softly. “And I am blessed by it. But you will always be my southron bride as well, Cat.” He smiled at her. “My gentle lady with hair kissed by fire, an occasionally wicked temper she tries to deny, and more stubborness than is generally good for her.”

Catelyn frowned at him.

“You are a Tully, Cat. And I would have you be no other way or you would not be the lady wife I’ve come to cherish so greatly.”

Her eyes watered once more at that. Ned loved her. She knew well that he did for he showed her in countless ways, large and small, on an almost daily basis. Yet, he was not one for declarations of love, and those words came about as close he ever did to actually telling her he loved her.

“As for your unfounded concerns about whether or not you are a Stark,” he continued, and she jumped a bit, causing him to give that low pitched rumbling chuckle of his. “Oh, I know you still worry sometimes about your place here, my lady, even though you have no cause.” He took the silver pin from her hands and returned it to its case. Then his eyes went to the case still lying on the bed. “Open the other case, Cat.”

She picked up the second black case, identical to the first one, and opened it up. When she saw the pin that lay within, she actually cried out, and her hands shook so that she almost feared she would drop it.

“Ned,” she whispered, and the tears fell freely now.

“You like it?” he whispered.

“I love it,” she breathed, and then she met his eyes. “And I love you.”

He smiled at her then. “Nothing makes me gladder, my lady.”

She turned her eyes back down to the silver pin, taking it from the case to examine it more closely. This design was even more intricately carved and engraved in the silver than the other. A wolf crouched in the snow, its face turned up toward the moon which was made of a single, lovely opal. All around the wolf were pups, close against her and under her protection. Five of them, of course.

She looked at the pin for a long time before looking back up to see her husband still smiling at her. “You will always be my Tully bride, but you are also the wife of winter, the lady of the north, the mother of wolves. You are Lady Catelyn Stark. And not a day goes by that I do not thank the gods for that.”

“My own gods are likely tired of being thanked for that same thing, my love,” she said. Then she gently put the beautiful wolf pin back into its case, picked up the other case as well, and walked to her dressing table to lay them down. The sky was beginning to lighten outside, and she could feel her breasts becoming very full. Rickon had lately taken to sleeping through the night, thank the gods, and she had asked one of her maids to keep the babe in the nursery last night as soon as she had word of Ned and his men riding toward the gates. She’d blushed terribly at the woman’s knowing look, but gods knew it had been worth it. She now reckoned that she had no more than another hour before the woman would be knocking at her door with the hungry babe.

Turning back toward her husband, she allowed the robe to drop to the floor. She knew that her body still bore ample evidence that she’d carried a child only two moons before, but he’d proven last night that he was unconcerned by that, and now his eyes traveled over her naked flesh in an appreciative manner that made her shiver despite feeling quite warm.

“Cat?” he inquired.

“You are overdressed, my lord.”

“Perhaps you might assist me then, my lady.”

She walked to him then and put her arms around his neck. She pressed a kiss to his lips and pressed her body against his. His hands went around her immediately, first to her waist, pulling her against him even more tightly, and then to her hips. She felt his cock stir against her through his breeches and she smiled against his lips.

His breathing was ragged when they finally broke the kiss so that she could help him push his shirt over his head. He put his hands on either side of her head, and ran his fingers through her hair. “I’m afraid I’ll muss your hair again, Cat, if you keep this up.”

She grabbed at the waistband of his breeches and tugged them down. “I don’t mind. I do have a comb, my lord.”

He laughed and pulled her back up, kissing her passionately as he pulled her once more against him. His hard cock pressed against her belly, and she heard herself make a low pitched sound deep in her throat at the sensation.

He broke the kiss to look at her face then, grey eyes as dark as smoke, and desire obvious in his gaze. “I hate leaving you, Cat,” he said breathlessly. “But by the gods, I love coming home to you!”

She smiled widely at him, and then slipped out of his arms to lie upon the bed. There were many kinds of gifts, she knew, and this was one gift they’d learned they could give to each other long ago. Years and familiarity had not decreased its value. The joy they took from each other’s responses when they coupled was in no way lessened by the fact that they’d experienced those responses so many times before. _Love,_ she thought. _That is what we give each other here. Again and again. Always._

She stretched out on top of the furs and looked up at him. “Take your boots off, Ned. And come to my bed.”

With no response other than a smile, her lord husband complied immediately with her request.


End file.
